


Chip at the Bricks

by toomuchgawking



Series: Call Them Brothers [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BuckyCap - Freeform, Canon Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 08:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1597682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomuchgawking/pseuds/toomuchgawking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Where am I?"</p>
<p>”You’re in a recovery room in New York City,” she answered, easily.</p>
<p>He narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying. Where am I?”</p>
<p>Her gaze flickered, hands dropping to her sides. “Sergeant Barnes-”</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>Captain America was an icon, which meant Steve Rogers was one too. And if history proves anything, it's that an icon's story is more important than they are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chip at the Bricks

**Author's Note:**

> The first installment in a series inspired by [this](http://youneedtostrut.tumblr.com/post/69748991038/who-the-hell-is-steve-au-where-they-both-fall) graphic, among a few other things.
> 
> Thanks go to [andromeda-reinvented](http://andromeda-reinvented.tumblr.com), [rhodesstark](http://rhodesstark.tumblr.com), and [hollyandvice](http://hollyandvice.tumblr.com) for doing a wonderful job beta-reading for me. Also never would've happened without excessive cheerleading from [wildunknownmen](http://wildunknownmen.tumblr.com) and [hawk-guy](http://hawk-guy.tumblr.com).
> 
> Title from Call Them Brothers by Regina Spektor feat. Only Son

It started with revenge.

It started with a shield, and a mantle Bucky was never supposed to hold.

It started on a train.

It started strapped to a table and delirious, with being shot at for the first time, and with draft papers.

It started in a orphanage in Brooklyn and the combination of split lip and split knuckles on a kid who looked like he’d break if he breathed too hard.

\--

Bucky closed his eyes in a crashing plane and opened them in a white room. Too white, he thought - there weren’t even any fly spots or water damage on the ceiling. There was a radio tuned onto a baseball game, and he was lying on a bed, and he could hear the sounds of traffic floating in the open window. For a moment he wondered if he was in London or New York, before he realised it was a Dodgers game, and he wouldn’t be likely to hear that anywhere in Europe. Something about it made him frown though, but he couldn’t quite grasp it. He started to wonder how they’d gotten him out. The last thing he remembered was looking at the display on the plane, and thinking of the destruction it would cause. He didn’t have to think about what Steve would do. He knew. So he’d made a short report to Morita, and pointed the nose of the plane at the water.

The spectators at the game cheered, and Bucky’s frown deepened. He’d been in enough medic tents and clinics over the years to know that this one didn’t feel right. People didn’t really get their own room, even if there was a weight in the legacy he’d been holding up. As he sat up, and looked around, the idea was cemented. The room was too big, for one thing, and too clean. Even if the name had gotten him a room of his own, it wouldn’t have gotten him _this_ room. Another cheer rose from the radio, and the niggling at the back of his mind solidified. He’d heard this game before. He’d _been_ to this game, he could remember sitting in the bleachers with Steve, shoulders pressed together, with bags of peanuts and the sun on the backs of their necks.

Something was wrong.

The door opened before he could stand; a girl in military dress. Long hair and red lipstick. She was watching him carefully. “Good morning,” she said, before checking her watch. “Or, should I say afternoon.”

”Where am I?” he asked, voice coming out hoarse.

”You’re in a recovery room in New York City,” she answered, easily. But it had to be a lie, it didn't make sense.

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying. Where am I?”

Her gaze flickered, hands dropping to her sides. “Sergeant Barnes-”

He stood, stepping forward, fists already clenched tight. She stepped back and the doors burst open.

Bucky hardly had a moment to register the black uniforms and the guns, and think _Hydra_ , before throwing himself at them. Panic was bursting through his chest, he couldn’t do this again. He was right back in Zola’s lab, strapped to a table, but he had to force that away because this time he could avoid it. He had to keep his head in the room. The fight was close quarters enough that if they fired their guns they’d have too much of a chance to hit each other. He had to keep moving, they couldn’t get a chance to lock onto him. They were trained, and they were ready for him, but Bucky was desperate, and he got out. The soldiers were on the floor, the girl had hung back from the fight and was scrabbling for one of their radios, and he burst out from the room into some kind of hanger. He set his course straight. It was the only good thing about Hydra bases; they had the tendency to follow the same layout. The commandos had used to to great effect in their attempts to not get Bucky too close to the labs any time they stormed one.

Only none of the corridors he hit felt even the slightest bit familiar. He tried to fight down the choking feeling in his throat, he just had to keep moving. Find his way out because, wherever he was, out there had to be better than in. There were people, he found, and their uniforms didn’t look entirely like Hydra’s, but he didn’t have time to stop and look. Instead he aimed for stairs, went down. He didn’t want to think of what Hydra would do to him since they’d had to have found him wearing Steve’s uniform. That had to be somewhere too, and the shield, but he didn’t have time to find them.

Then he saw a door to the outside, could see daylight shining through.

Relief coursed through his blood, and he burst out, blinking in the sunlight, only to come skidding to a stop. It was a city, and he could see signs in English, but it all seemed strange. There were people just on the streets, but the clothes didn’t look right and neither did the cars driving past. It took him a few moments to realise that he’d been standing still too long. There was barely time to recognise the screech of brakes before he was surrounded. There were too many muzzles pointed at him to make a move. Slowly, he raised his hands.

”Stand down, soldier,” a voice called, coming from a tall black man, striding through the line of guns like they were nothing. There was an eye patch covering his left eye, and he stopped directly in front of Bucky. “Look, I’m sorry about the show in there, but we thought it best if we break it to you gently.”

Bucky swallowed hard. “Break what?”

”You’ve been asleep, Sergeant,” the man answered. “For almost seventy years.”

”That,” Bucky felt his stomach drop, “That’s not possible.”

”We can give you a better explanation inside. We have some rather pressing questions for you too.”

”Like what?” Bucky asked, a numb feeling spreading through his chest.

”Like what you were doing in Captain America’s uniform in a Hydra plane wreck, when by all accounts the man who took that plane down was Steve Rogers.”

“Why should I trust you?”

The man held out his hand. “My name’s Nick Fury,” he said. “I’m with an organisation called SHIELD. And we had our roots with some people you knew in the SSR during the war. We grew from that team, if you want to put it like that. If you come back inside, we can discuss it further.”

”You're part of the SSR?” Bucky said, doubtfully.

”More like what’s left of it,” Fury replied. “The Strategic Science Reserve doesn’t really exist anymore.”

”Shouldn’t you know what happened?”

Fury regarded him for a moment. “What happened on the plane?”

”No. Steve Rogers died falling out of a train in Austria.” Bucky watched Fury’s face carefully. “And the SSR are the ones that covered it up.”

Fury didn't show much of a reaction at all. “And you were on the plane because?”

”I’m his understudy.”

”I think we’d better discuss this inside, don’t you?”

Bucky’s eyes flicked around the weapons trained on him. “Well, I don’t really have a choice in the matter, do I?”

He didn’t.

The room he was seated in felt a little too much like an interrogation room for Bucky to be comfortable sitting in it. There were even guards at the door. Fury seemed happy to ignore them, seating himself opposite Bucky easily.

“So, you were Captain Rogers' understudy, according to yourself, only there’s no record of any successful recipients of the Super Soldier Serum except Steve Rogers and Johann Schmidt.”

Bucky shrugged. ”I didn’t get the serum.”

”The agents you took out on your little escape attempt would disagree,” Fury shook his head, “You got something.”

”Yeah, lucky,” Bucky said. It came out a little snappier than he intended. “They looked like they were Hydra. I figured they wouldn't want anything good. Especially if they found me in Steve's outfit."

”I think you need to start this story at the beginning,” Fury said, not entirely unkindly.

Bucky wanted to say he didn’t know when the beginning was, but he knew what Fury wanted to hear. Even if it was the part of the story he wanted to tell the least. But there wouldn’t be any point in saying that, so he took a deep breath and thought back to the train. “It was the day we caught Arnim Zola.”

\--

As far as heists went, the train job wasn’t one Bucky would’ve picked to be the one they lost someone on. Getting on the train in the first place was the most terrifying part, and all he had to do was jump when he was told. Dernier had the scarier job of telling them when to bail - he seemed unperturbed. Given the shit Dernier pulled for them on a regular basis, Bucky wasn’t sure if that was comforting or not. But if there was anyone he trusted with his life it was Steve and the Commandos. And when it was Steve telling him that he was going to zip-line over a ravine and onto a moving train, he somehow made it seem completely possible. He was right; it was possible. When Bucky landed with a solid thump on the roof of the train, when he felt the vibration of Gabe landing behind him, he could already taste the triumph thick in the back of his throat.

Maybe that was his mistake.

Gabe stayed on the roof as a lookout, Bucky and Steve climbed into the train. It should have been simple. Find Zola. Take out any grunts they met along the way. They moved together easily, the way that was only possible because they’d had each other’s backs for over a decade. Together they were unstoppable, it had felt like that since Brooklyn.

Then a door slammed shut between them and it all went to shit.

Bucky could only remember the fight in bits and pieces. The car was for storage, they hadn’t expected anyone to be waiting for them. It was why it was the best place to enter, why it was the best place for an ambush. But it was also lucky; it meant there was cover. Rudimentary cover at best, nothing that would last long. But it was something, and Bucky was a Howling Commando. If they were good at anything, it was turning a deadlock into a victory. Even if they had to drag it out with their fingernails. All he had to do was ignore the blasts he could hear from the car Steve was caught in, and focus on the problem in front of him.

He remembered the click of his gun when he ran out of ammo, the relief that coursed through him when the door to the car slid open and it was Steve on the other side.

He remembered a blast coming from the other car and knocking Steve flat, remembered the hole it cut through the side of the train.

He remembered grabbing the shield and charging.

The blast was harder than he was prepared for; he hit the back of the car so hard he saw stars. They cleared just in time to see another blast knock Steve through the gaping hole in the side.

There was a roaring in his ears that vanished into a high pitched whine. The Hydra soldier with the cannon stepped forward, and Bucky was already pulling the trigger. He didn’t remember raising his gun. The soldier fell. Bucky was already scrambling to the side of the train. He could feel his heart pounding in his throat but he couldn’t hear anything except that whine. But there was _Steve_ , hanging from the edge, wide eyed and pale. Bucky only had enough time to think that they were okay, to grab a handhold and step one foot out of the car, and then a cracking noise cut through everything else.

A piece of the broken wall fell away, and Steve fell with it.

Bucky was left with one hand outstretched and the sound of Steve’s shout disappearing into the wind.

He didn’t remember how they found Zola, or how they got to the rendezvous point. He remembered how wrong the shield had felt, slung across his back like Steve had worn it, the looks on the Commandos faces as it really sunk in that they'd lost someone. Lost Steve. The weight of it felt like it was going to drag him into the ground. Everyone was silent, a heady fog of disbelief hanging over them. Bucky remembered feeling numb.

The ravine was huge, and they didn’t have the time to search it. It was almost impossible to pinpoint the place Steve had fallen from. They didn’t have the resources to stage a proper search through the snow. Not even for the body of an American Hero. They looked anyway, because it was Steve, and they were his Commandos, and they stretched the fact that his body contained scientific material that they didn’t want falling into anyone else hands as far as Colonel Phillips would let them. Which was only a week, after a snowstorm rolled through the valley.

He couldn’t have survived. They wouldn’t have been able to find him in a blizzard, and neither would have anyone else. There were other things to do.

No one else had taken the shield away from him, so he figured that was what it was about when he got called into Colonel Phillip’s tent. Especially when Agent Carter was there too, mouth tight with something Bucky couldn’t read. It wasn’t a pleasant expression, he didn’t like having it fixed on him. Slowly, he pulled the shield from where it was slung on his back, and started to set it down.

”What’re you doing, son?” Phillips’ voice cracked out like a whip.

Bucky paused. “Figured you wanted it back. Or Stark did.”

Phillips stared for a moment, leaning over his desk. Bucky did his best to bare it without shifting. “Captain America’s too important to lose,” he said, finally. “We still need someone to carry that shield. You’re next in line for the command in your squad, besides you haven’t let that thing go since the train. Think you can throw it?”

Bucky nearly scoffed, a bitter taste rising in the back of his throat. “You want me to pretend to be Steve?”

”We want you to be Captain America,” he corrected. “Wear the uniform, do some raids. Keep the legend alive. You may not be Erskine’s experiment, but the world needs you anyway.”

Bucky could feel his lips thin. The look on Agent Carter’s face suddenly made a lot more sense. “Just raids?” he asked, keeping his voice under control. “I want to go after Schmidt.”

Phillips snorted. “You’re not going after the Red Skull-”

”Well, it’s going to look weird that I’m not,” Bucky broke in, too angry to worry about talking back to a superior officer. “After all, if this Captain America’s still alive, that means his best friend just fell out of a train. It’ll look bad if he doesn’t at least try to avenge him.” He swallowed. It didn’t help the dryness in his throat. “And you know that’s definitely a mission the rest of the Commandos will follow me on.”

Phillips’ eyes narrowed.

The victory tasted bitter.

\--

”The rest of the story is pretty much how you must already know it. Captain America and the Howling Commandos, backed by the SSR charge Schmidt’s base, and then he dies in a plane crash.” Bucky’s voice was starting to get hoarse. “What I want to know,” he continued, without giving Fury the chance to say anything, “is why you don’t already know this. Shouldn’t the SSR have had records?”

Fury’s gaze was still pinning him down. “There’ll be a few reasons,” he started. “For one thing, all files on Captain America are highly classified. Even I can’t read them just out of curiosity.” He turned towards one of the guards. “Get me a line to Peggy Carter.”

Bucky jerked like he’d sat on a livewire, suddenly sitting very straight, barely aware of the guard leaving. “Peggy’s alive?” It wasn’t something he’d had time to consider yet, they fact that people he’d known might still be out there. Maybe there could be more than just Peggy, maybe some of the Commandos-

“Peggy’s probably the only person alive who can confirm your story,” Fury said, and that hope vanished.

“Can I speak to her?” he asked.

Fury stood, nodding at the remaining guard, who opened the door. “We’ll see.”

Then Bucky was left alone in the room with nothing but memories.

\--

He was stinking drunk. He was pretty sure everyone was stinking drunk, but he’d lost the rest of the Commandos somewhere along the way. So he was wandering around a bombed out section of London by himself, kicking aside ashes and taking swigs straight from the bottle. It was the last night he was going to have off before they started planning the attack on Schmidt in earnest. The weight of it felt like it was moments from crushing his shoulders. He took another swig, like it could wash it all away.

”What a charming way to pay your respects,” a sharp voice cut through the air.

Bucky sighed, turning to see Agent Carter standing in the middle of the street. “I really doubt Steve’d be surprised.” He tipped his wrist, letting some whiskey splash onto the ground next to his boot. “And there’s some for him.”

”He might not be surprised, but do you think he’d be happy to see you like this, Sergeant Barnes?”

”Haven’t I had a promotion?” Bucky said darkly, mostly to himself.

”You haven’t had anything at all,” Peggy said archly.

”Of course,” Bucky grimaced. “But I’m still supposed to decide how to lead everyone against Schmidt.” He took another swig. “Steve’d know how to do it.”

”Steve would have faith in you,” she said moving closer. “All you have to do is prove to everyone else that it wasn’t misplaced.”

Bucky wasn’t sure if it was the weight of Steve’s faith or the whiskey, but his stomach started swirling so hard that he had to stumble over to the nearest ruin and brace himself. Bent double, he vomited, the scent of bile strong in the cold air. When nothing more was coming up, he leant his forehead against the wall, knowing he’d be getting soot on it. He was shaking, he realised. The sound of Peggy’s footsteps as she moved closer seemed to echo in his ears. She put her hand on his back and he opened his eyes.

”Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said, before tugging his arm over her shoulder and pulling him down the street.

”Makes it look like you’re my girl,” he said, a little slurred and indistinct.

She snorted. “It makes it look like you’re a drunk.”

”I could be,” Bucky said, not sure why he was protesting.

Peggy glanced up at him. “He’d want better for you than that.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. She was right, and he didn’t have a response to that at all.

\--

He spent a night in living quarters within the S.H.I.E.L.D building, with reports someone had apparently scraped together on how the war had progressed after he froze. The next morning found him led to the same interrogation room - or maybe a different one, he had too much to think about to pay much attention to the routes he was being led along. This time it wasn’t Fury who was seated across from him, though, but a little old woman, who started at him with warm brown eyes. It took a moment for it to click into place.

”Peggy?” he asked, trying not to sound surprised. Knowing she’d be older was different than seeing the proof. He’d seen her two days ago, in Schmidt’s base, but now…

”Bucky Barnes,” she said dryly. “They said you looked exactly the same.”

Her voice wasn’t quite right. There were cracks of age running through it as clearly as the wrinkles showed on her cheeks, but it was close enough. Between that and the look in her eyes, finally having something familiar let something in Bucky relax. He found himself grinning. “So you like what you see?”

”Hardly,” she replied, her tone getting even dryer. But her expression sobered. “I thought I told you _not_ to make going after Schmidt a suicide mission.”

He winced. “I am alive,” he tried, reconsidering when her gaze turned frosty. “I didn’t get onto the plane intending to crash it.”

”You’d better not have,” she said, but her gaze softened again. “Fury said you only woke up yesterday.”

”He was telling the truth,” Bucky scratched the back of his neck. “It’s still sinking in.”

”He’s fond of dramatics, that one,” Peggy said, “Swooping around in that coat like a bat. But he’s a good man to have on your side.”

”What are you hinting at?” Bucky asked.

Peggy sighed. “He asked me about your time in Hydra’s labs,” she said. “Depending on what Zola did to you, it’s likely that he’ll want you to be Captain America again.” Her gaze turned piercing. “Don’t tell me the thought hadn’t occurred to you.”

It hadn’t. Bucky blinked, mulling the idea over. “Surely they don’t need a war hero anymore.”

”Maybe not, but that doesn’t make one any less useful,” she said. “Especially one with as much legacy as Captain America, and especially one who’s risen from the dead.”

Bucky rubbed a hand over his face. “I thought I already had enough to think about.”

”I’m sorry to add to it,” she said.

Bucky shook his head, and leaned back. “I wish Steve were here.”

\--

The expectation to acclimatise fast came with multiple meetings, briefings on events that had happened while Bucky slept (it didn’t seem right for him to call it history), and physical tests. Those were the worst. Doctors were taking vials of blood, always promising they’d destroy the samples directly after testing, watching him in the gym and trying to establish the parameters of his endurance. On the fifth day out, Fury came to the briefing as well. Because it wasn’t about the Cuban Missile Crisis, or the expanding wars in the Middle East. It was about Bucky himself. It was to tell him, in as neutral terms as possible, that he did, in fact, have serum running through his veins. Not Erskine’s, that much was clear. Not anything close to Steve’s, but a cousin of it, an attempt. It felt like Zola’s fingerprints on the inside of his skin. All the tests meant he couldn’t ignore it. He was getting the results all the time, on graphs and charts, complete readouts with baselines of what they said was peak human condition. It was as confining as the SHIELD quarters he was still in.

”So, is there a plan for when I’m getting out of here?” he asked Fury after yet another explanation. He knew he was being demanding, that probably wasn’t a good idea, but he was feeling itchy, more lab rat than human. Going back to his quarters seemed impossible.

Fury regarded him for a moment. “I was wondering when you were going to start asking that.”

Bucky waited for a moment, trying to keep the itching feeling contained, but Fury just stared back, waiting for another question. If this was what asking for things was going to be like, maybe he was better off asking forgiveness than permission. He didn’t want to seem demanding, but the back of his neck was going to be scratched raw soon. “And?”

”We’re looking into it,” Fury said. “It’s a little more complicated than just finding an open apartment.”

Bucky did his best not to let his annoyance show. “How soon, then?”

”If you’re finding SHIELD hospitality that confining, we can see about speeding the process up,” Fury said.

Bucky tried to look grateful.

Fury had to have started something, though, because the next day instead of one of the scientists that had been taking him for tests, there was a red-headed woman in street clothes, who looked at him with a cool gaze. Fury was there too, and he gestured Bucky towards a seat easily.

”Sergeant Barnes, this is Agent Romanoff,” he said. “She’s going to be showing you around the city.”

Bucky blinked, and tried to hide his surprise. “You’re letting me out of the cage?”

”We thought you might like some time to adjust while we find you a place of your own. The city’s changed a lot since the last time you were here. We don’t want you getting into any trouble.”

Bucky took the implied _and we want to keep an eye on you_ without saying anything. Getting out with a chaperone was still getting out. So he turned, extending his hand towards Agent Romanoff. “Call me Bucky,” he said. “I’m assuming you’ve been briefed.”

”I have,” she said, voice as cool as her gaze. Her handshake was firm. “Natasha.”

Fury stood up, drawing their attention. “Now that you two have met, I have other things to attend to. I expect you both to be able to manage without breaking each other. Have fun.” With that, he swept out of the room.

”Well,” Bucky said in the resulting silence, “I think we can sightsee without breaking each other.”

Natasha smiled, quick and warmer than he expected. “I agree,” she said. “Do you have any idea where you want to go?”

Bucky shrugged, because he didn’t. He only had the barest idea of what would be left, and he didn’t know if he wanted to see the places he’d been with Steve. Whether it would bring back painful memories (because _god_ it really hadn’t been that long ago, but there’d been so much _stuff_ since he woke up that he hadn’t been thinking about it), or if it would just all be alien and new, like the places he’d known had just never existed. He didn’t know which would be worse. “Not really,” he said. “Do you have recommendations?”

She smiled again, and slid an ID card over towards him. “Let’s go for walk.”

\--

Parts of New York looked almost exactly the same, but the rest might as well have been another country. Bucky couldn’t help staring around, but he wasn’t even sure what he was looking for. They stayed in Manhattan. Bucky felt caught by the screens in Times Square. They looked at the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, and Rockefeller Centre. Neither of them spoke much, but Natasha got him set up with a card for the subway and showed him how to use it. Then they stopped for lunch in a tiny Italian restaurant that she recommended. They sat in a corner booth facing the entrance, and Bucky wondered if it was on purpose or not.

He was wondering if they’d spend the whole meal in the same quiet they’d spent the morning in, when Natasha spoke without looking up from the pasta she was twirling onto her fork. “What kind of a name is Bucky?”

He blinked before shrugging. “My middle name’s Buchanan. No one calls me James. You don’t like it?”

”No,” she answered, glancing up with a quick smile. “It sounds like a dog’s name. James is much nicer.”

”A dog?” Bucky snorted. “Okay.”

”Too mean?”

”I’ve had worse.”

"Oh?" She tilted her head, studying him. "Like what?"

He forced a laugh. "You want to talk about old nicknames?"

"You brought it up," she smiled. "But you don't have to tell me, I was just trying to make conversation."

"Conversation's good." He shrugged. "So, what did you do to earn babysitting duty?"

"Babysitting duty?" She sounded amused.

"You know, showing the old soldier around, making sure he doesn't forget how to cross the road. Babysitting."

"You don't look like much of a baby. I've got the clearance level to know about you being found." She took a sip from her glass. "They wanted to make sure you weren't going to spill your secrets, I'd say."

"Apparently I have plenty of those," Bucky agreed.

"That won't be unusual at SHIELD," she said. "It's what we deal in."

"What are yours?" he asked, watching her face.

She smiled, meeting his gaze square on. "Nothing as dramatic as you have. Maybe one day I'll tell you. For the moment you probably have your work cut out for you learning your own."

"Right," he pulled out the ID card she'd given him. "James Barnes, born 1987. Anything else I should know about him?"

"You'll be briefed more thoroughly when we have more set up."

"Like when I'm set to move out of your headquarters?" he asked, and she nodded in confirmation. "I guess that's probably when I'd be most likely to start fucking up."

"Fury was waiting for you to ask. Even he didn't think he could keep you shut up in there for long."

Bucky snorted. "He sure looked like he could."

"He's patient," she inclined her head. "Moreso than you, I'd say."

"It's not hard to be more patient than I am. I just used to surround myself with people who made me look like I was."

"Like Steve Rogers?" She was watching him again, this time more carefully.

He hesitated. "Yeah," he said, nodding slightly. "Like Steve. But then, look where that got him."

Her gaze didn't drop. "Look where it got you."

There was a silence. Bucky looked down at his plate at didn't look up.

"There's a memorial," Natasha said, hesitating for a second. "For all the Commandos, not just Steve. They took the red, white and blue theme a little too seriously, if you ask me. It isn't that far from here, though. If you wanted to see it."

Bucky didn't want to. He didn't want to see whatever someone else had designed to commemorate the fact that he and his friends had been dead for years. Whatever it was, it was going to be wrong. There was no way they could've created something that felt right, because whoever had made it wouldn't have known Steve. It was going to be a monument to Captain America, not Steve Rogers, and Bucky hated that. He hated his part in it. His knuckles were white as he gripped his fork.

"Okay," he said. "Let's go."

(He was right.)

—

The apartment was in Brooklyn. Bucky thought they might have been trying to keep him in familiar areas, which was laughable, because there really wasn't that much that was the same. It wasn't ready yet, because apparently he needed better security than what was already installed, but Natasha took him out to look at it. She'd been taking him around New York for almost a week. He had to wonder what her actual job was. But he wasn't complaining. It got him outside. It was doing wonders, making him feel less itchy, and seeing the apartment only helped. It was bigger than he expected - far bigger than the one he and Steve had shared before the war. He wasn't sure he'd ever lived in a house with a spare bedroom. There wasn't any furniture yet, and it felt off to Bucky, wandering around the empty rooms, knowing he'd be living there soon.

"There's gym equipment set up in the basement of the building," Natasha said, leaning against a doorframe. "You'll have a key."

Bucky snorted. "They don't want me just going to a local one?"

"I'd imagine not." The click of her heels echoed throughout the room as she walked closer. "If you're as good as your files say you are, you’d cause quite a stir."

"We wouldn't want that," he mused.

The front door opened, and he started. Natasha barely looked up, which made sense when Fury was the one who entered. He strode into the apartment like he owned it, which might have been true but it rankled just a little, and glanced around the room before turning towards Bucky.

"What do you think, Sergeant?"

Bucky blinked. "It's definitely bigger than my old place." A beat passed. "Thank you, Sir."

"The security system should be set up within the week, and then we can start moving you in. I'd say headquarters must be making you a little itchy."

Bucky nodded, wondering how long the process of moving him in would take. "It is."

"There's something I've been wanting to talk to you about, Sergeant," Fury said, pinning Bucky with his gaze. "You might have guessed from SHIELD’s existence that just because the war's over, doesn't mean the fight is."

Belatedly, Bucky realised Natasha had disappeared. He considered his answer. "From what I've heard there hasn't just been one war."

"Well, we aren't the army," Fury said. "But we aren't nothing. And we could use someone like you."

Bucky felt his lips thin. "And how would you use me?"

"There's an idea within SHIELD, something we've been building up to for a while now. It's called the Avengers Initiative."

"The Avengers?" Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Sounds kinda dire."

Fury inclined his head. "Maybe. We want to bring together a group of extraordinary people. People who can defend us from extraordinary threats."

Bucky turned away, taking a few paces around the outside of the room. "And how many of those do you get?"

"You'd be surprised," Fury said, gaze following him around the room. "You had your own run ins with the Red Skull."

"Point," Bucky tried to keep his voice light at the reminder. "So, who else is on the team?"

"We've got a few prospects," Fury said, and Bucky gave him a flat look.

"All classified?"

He could swear there was almost a smile on Fury's face. "Just like you."

"What even makes you think I'd be a good fit?"

"You did a pretty good job of leading your team after Captain Rogers died," Fury said. "Or so we've heard. Peggy Carter speaks highly of you, and she doesn't throw around praise lightly.”

Something clicked in Bucky's head, and he stopped, taking a moment to reign in a surge of anger. "You want me to be Steve again."

"Captain America was not just Steve Rogers," Fury countered. "You're living proof of that."

"I just held the shield-" Bucky started, before Fury cut him off.

"And that's not nothing, Sergeant. You held the shield, and you saved a lot of people's lives while you did it. What Rogers accomplished before you doesn't negate what you did." He stepped back a little. "You don't need to decide right now. Think it over. Keep catching up. You know where to find me." He turned to walk away, and Bucky didn't move until he heard the front door close.

—

"So, you're my dad's big cover up."

Bucky blinked, looking up from the file he'd been reading for the first time in several hours. After getting back to headquarters he'd done his best to try and bury the anger that Fury's proposition had started in the list of files he'd been given access to, with the aim of trying to catch up. It had worked, mostly. A man with dark hair and a goatee was leaning against the edge of his study cubicle, looking him up and down. More than anything else, Bucky recognised the sharp look in his eyes. He sighed, and wondered if he'd been expecting this. "Let me guess. You're Stark’s kid, right? The one with the metal suit?"

"Wow, even the guy who's been frozen for almost a century knows who I am," Stark smiled; it was all teeth and not remotely friendly. "I'm even better than I thought."

"I knew your father," Bucky said, even though he hadn't, really. "Is that why you showed up, looking to reminisce?"

"Hardly," Stark snorted, posture aggressively laid back. "I just wanted to take a look at the war hero. Figured you'd have to be about ninety different shades of fucked up, what with the time displacement, and the identity issues, and all the dead friends."

Anger started to twist in Bucky's stomach. He tried to force it down. "Right."

"Don't get cranky. You're Fury's pet right now, I just wanted to see why. Besides, he's talked to you about the Avengers initiative, hasn't he?" Bucky straightened up at the name, and Stark smiled again, almost victoriously. "I wanted to see just how desperate he was."

"What do you know about that?" Bucky asked, fighting to keep the challenge out of his voice.

Stark shrugged, almost nonchalant. "Oh, just a few months ago I had Agent Romanoff show up at my company. Only she was going by Natalie Rushman. Very professional, she did a lot of good work. Then all of a sudden she was wearing a catsuit, and locking me in my house on Fury’s orders. It really makes you think, doesn't it?"

" _You're_ part of the Avengers Initiative?" Bucky asked, disbelief colouring his voice. He might have seen a bunch of news articles about Tony Stark and Iron Man saving lives, but he hadn't really considered he'd be attached to SHIELD at all. A flashy red and gold target hadn't seemed like their type. Not that a star spangled war hero did either.

Stark shrugged, still watching him. "I'm not sure how much I'm allowed to tell you. I mean, you haven't agreed to it, right?"

"Not yet." Bucky shut the file, straightening it on the desk in front of him. "So you just came to look at me?"

"Something like that." Stark shifted forward until he could lean his hip against the edge of Bucky's desk, and used his fingertips to tilt the file towards himself. "I mean, James Buchanan Barnes. When people realised it was you trapped in the plane, not that Rogers guy… It was pretty scandalous. I'm officially impressed."

"Impressing people was definitely what we were going for," Bucky drawled, shifting in his seat so he was facing Stark and leaning back.

Stark huffed out a short laugh. "I'm sure you were. Pretty impressive though, keeping it buried all those years."

"That really wasn't me, you'd have to ask Fury why he never opened his files."

"You like having the last word, don't you?" Stark looked back at him, a knowing look on his face.

"A Stark calling me out on that?" Bucky met his gaze, trying not to let too much irritation show. "You don't know your family too well, do you?"

"On the contrary," Stark shifted again, gaze narrowed, and leaned back against the wall, "If you'd like me to detail my many faults I can set aside some time."

"I think I'll survive without the list."

"Good choice." There was a short silence. Neither of them were willing to look away. "Are you going to say yes? To the whole Avengers shebang." The question was aggressively laid back, and Bucky fought not to react.

"I haven't decided," he said, voice level. "Fury's giving me some time to think it over. So you've met Agent Romanoff?"

Stark's grin was back. "I have. She's good, isn't she? Really puts you at ease."

Anything Bucky could have said in response was cut off by a woman in a SHIELD uniform appearing at the edge of the carrell. "Mr. Stark," she said. "Director Fury needs you in his office."

Stark huffed, irritation flashing across his face. "Of course he does."

Both he and the agent walked away without looking back. Bucky pulled his file back towards him, flipping through it until he found the page where he'd left off. He managed to stare at it for a good few minutes before accepting he wasn't taking any more of it in. Instead he packed it up and headed towards the gym.

It wasn't that Bucky had particularly thought he and Natasha were friends. She'd never given him any reason to believe they were. She was a SHIELD agent, and showing him around was just a job. It was never out of the goodness of her heart. It wasn't even that he'd ever thought she _wasn't_ watching him in some way, though having it confirmed wasn't the nicest feeling. He wasn't even sure why Stark's confession had set him so on edge. It could be Stark himself, or just more unease at the idea of the Avengers. More likely, it was still from being asked to be Steve again. The idea left the same bitter taste under his tongue that it has when it had been Colonel Phillips asking. Maybe it was all of it together. It didn't really matter, it all amounted to the same thing; him at a SHIELD gym that was empty except for the thud of his fists against the heavy bag, and sound of his own breathing. At least, for half an hour or so.

"Working off some aggression?" Natasha's voice carried over from the door.

"Something like that," he called back, without looking up. "Come to watch?"

"I just heard someone scared all the agents out of the room." She walked further inside, a curving path that crossed into his line of sight on the other side of the bag. She was wearing workout clothes and carrying a water bottle. She didn't look at him. "I wanted to see who it was."

"Surprised?" He gave the bag a particularly vicious hit.

"Not really." She put the water bottle down at the edge of a mat, and started to stretch. "But I don't get surprised particularly easily. What's up? You were quiet this afternoon but you didn't seem this angry."

Bucky shook sweaty hair away from his forehead. "Maybe it just took a while to sink in." Natasha looked up from her stretch with a raised eyebrow. "I met Stark in the meantime."

"Ah," Natasha said as if that explained all of it. "You know, you scared all my sparring partners away, to make up for it I think you should probably step away from the bag for a while and come replace them."

Bucky dropped his fists, and stepped back, looking at her for the first time. "You want to spar with me?"

"I want to spar, and you're the only other person in the gym," she corrected. "Come here." She waited until he was standing apprehensively at the edge of the mat before speaking again. "How much hand to hand training have you had?"

"As much as the army gave me," he said. "Plus as much as you learn in back alleys in Brooklyn." He looked her up and down feeling doubtful. "How much do you have."

"Plenty," she said, stepping onto the mat and walking towards to middle, tying her hair up as she went. "Are you in, or are you going to make me go find someone else?"

Bucky stepped onto the mat. "I'm in."

"Good," she said, dropping her hands from her ponytail. "Let's go."

Bucky was used to fighting guys his own size. A lot of the time before the war they'd been softened and overconfident because he'd arrived halfway through fights Steve picked, but that only really gave him enough time for one, maybe two, good blows before they realised things had changed. The strategy of his fights had always been the same; the army hadn't changed it much, just made the fights themselves more vicious. Because there was a difference between trying to make a guy back off, and being on opposite sides of a war. But it all boiled down to hitting hard, and hitting where it hurt, and not giving too much ground in the meantime. It was all well and good with a gun at your hip and an opponent who fought the same way as you.

Natasha didn’t fight like that at all.

She was forever in motion, dancing around him in a way that made standing his ground almost useless. She struck out like a viper at his weak points, and he barely managed to block let alone get on the offence. She pulled back after a flurry of moves, eyes bright and focused.

"So, what has you punching the feelings away?" she asked, voice rough with exertion.

"Who says I'm punching them away?" he countered, eyeing her warily and waiting for her to attack again.

She circled to the right, giving him a skeptical look. "James, reading people is part of my job."

Bucky scowled. "I've heard." He lunged forward to avoid elaborating, striking out at her. She ducked under the blow easily, twisting to drive her knee into his side. He stumbled a little, dodging back to avoid the kick that followed him.

She didn’t follow him, instead staying on the other side of the mat with an amused smile on her face. "Oh, so you're mad at _me_.”

He huffed. "No. Not exactly." He shifted his weight onto the balls of his foot, trying to stay mobile. "But that is what you've been doing with me, right?"

"Yes." She held her hand up to forestall him, and walked over to her water bottle. "I've been evaluating potential members of the Avengers Initiative."

"And you thought I'd be good?" He let out a harsh laugh, settling back onto his heels. "Still think so?"

She smiled, quick and bright, brushing loose hair out of her face. "You're not bad. That's not why you're pissed off though. You knew I was watching you." She stepped back up, waiting for him to step back into his stance before attacking, forcing him to the edge of the mat. He managed to block both of her fists before she struck the middle of his chest with a foot that came out of no where, knocking him off the edge.

He rubbed a hand over his face, taking another moment to catch his breath; she retreated to the other side of the mat, retying her hair and giving him room to regroup. "I did," he admitted. "Maybe not the whole thing. I knew they were using you to keep an eye on me." Still frustrated, he stepped back onto the mat, bringing his fists up in preparation, waiting for her to take the attack.

She readied herself, but didn’t move forward. "So, what are you mad about?"

His patience ran out before he could come up with a good answer; he feinted right and managed to get her into a brief grappling hold before she drove an elbow into his solar plexus and slipped out of his grip. He coughed, bracing his hands on his knees. "Stark had a lot to say about you," he offered instead, wheezing slightly.

"He has a lot to say about a lot of people. Try and ignore him, if you can."

"It's not really him." He shook his head, wiping sweat off his face again. "It's the whole thing. The Initiative. It's not right, Fury asking me to be Steve again."

"He's not, you know." She darted forward without explaining. He thought he did a pretty good job of driving her away until she hooked her foot around his ankle, and sent him crashing to the mat. Within a few moments she had him pinned, arm twisted up, knee in the middle of his back. When she spoke again he could hear the strain in her voice. "He's not going to send you out with the shield and pretend like Steve Rogers came back to life."

"It's the same thing," he ground out, twisting his neck trying to get a good look at her face.

She sighed, releasing him and standing up. "It's not. This really is giving you a chance to honour him, instead of lying about him."

He pushed himself up, but stayed sitting on the mat. The anger that had been burning had seeped away a little; he felt tired instead. "Maybe."

For a moment she studied him, and then she turned, and walked over to her water bottle. "It's up to you," she said. "SHIELD won't force you into anything. But it could be good for you, too. You'd get to work with people who know who you are."

"Yeah." Bucky pushed a hand through his hair, grimacing, before he stood up, walking to fetch his own bottle. Natasha watched him, stretching out her arms. He tried to push the topic away, cracking his neck before looking at her again. "Think you can teach me how to fight like that?"

She smiled. "We can work on it."

\--

Bucky did think about it. It took effort, trying to push past the anger that came forward instinctually, but he did his best. It was easier not to talk about it, not to have to try and explain why it felt wrong. Natasha's words had hit their mark, or at least close to it, but he still wasn't sure if it made a difference. Besides, she was part of SHIELD, it made sense that she's take Fury’s side of it. He didn't see Stark again, something he was glad about. But Natasha did keep meeting him in the gym to spar again as well as teaching him a few of her tricks. It was nice having something to focus on that wasn't the near-century of history he'd missed, nice to feel challenged in a way that the treadmill or the heavy bag didn't give him. She didn't bring up the Avengers Initiative again, but the first time he managed to knock her on her ass she took him out afterward for a drink, and pint glasses of beer in a smoky bar felt the closest to normal he'd had in a while.

The next day he got the news he could move into the apartment.

It was fully furnished, not that Bucky knew how to judge that in any way aside from knowing the furniture was usable. It was comfortable, at least. But it still felt empty. He didn't have many things to unpack; the size of the bag of things he'd brought from the SHIELD headquarters was almost comically small. Still, he only made it through half of it before he slipped out of the front door and locked it. It was the first time he'd been on the streets alone since he woke up, but he had the ID Natasha had given him, even a bank card she'd shown him how to use. He had some cash. He had to do it at some point. So he carefully made his way into Manhattan. He tried to keep his wandering aimless, just to focus on looking at the city, but his feet kept bringing him to the same place. Eventually he had to give up, to sit down and stare at the memorial he hadn't been to since Natasha had first shown him, to really look at it in all its garish splendor. Steve really would have hated it, and Bucky did too.

There was a bench across from it, though, and that was where he was sitting when Fury found him. 

"Hello, Sir," he said, without looking away from the memorial.

Fury stopped a few feet away, and nodded. "Sergeant. I went to see how you were settling in to your apartment. Imagine my surprise when you weren't there."

Bucky shrugged. "It's a nice afternoon. Figured I'd go for a walk."

"No problems, then?"

"I'm good, thanks." It took a moment for Bucky to reconsider leaving it there. He didn't want to be led in the conversation, if he couldn't exactly have the upper hand he wanted at least to be on more even footing. "But that isn't the only reason you're here, is it?"

Fury inclined his head. "I wanted to continue our last conversation."

"Agent Romanoff talked to you?" Bucky asked mildly.

"I heard that you cleared a gym out that day," Fury agreed. Which was only half of an admission, but as far as their conversations went Bucky was okay with that.

"I had a lot to think about," he said, by way of an explanation. "I thought it'd help clear my mind."

"Did it?"

Bucky leaned back on the bench, eyes tracing along the pattern of the shield on the memorial. "A little. You told me I didn’t need to decide right away."

Fury took a few steps towards him, coming close enough they could lower the volume of their conversation. He didn't sit. "You're still considering, then."

Bucky looked away from the memorial for the first time, giving Fury an even look. "I'm not going to do it. I can't carry that shield again, it's not mine."

"As much as you don't want to hear it, Sergeant Barnes," Fury said, "The owner of the shield has been dead a long time. And I can't imagine he'd want anyone but you to carry it."

Bucky felt his eyes narrow, and took a moment to fight down anger again. "You didn't know him," he said, when he felt more capable of keeping calm. "You have know idea what he would've wanted."

"You're right. What do you think he would've wanted?"

Bucky shook his head, looking down. "I appreciate that consideration, but I don't think that's what's important in this situation. It's my life, not Steve's."

"Then what do you want to do?" Fury said. "What are you going to do in this century? You're going to go from being a hero to being just another New Yorker?"

Bucky shook his head. "That's all I ever was."

"This is the Captain's legacy," Fury said. "Steve Roger's legacy. You don't want to keep that going? Keep honouring his sacrifice?"

"I made Steve's legacy a lie," Bucky said, looking back up at the markers, "Because, according to the top brass, he made his sacrifice at the wrong time. I don't really want to make that worse than I already did."

Fury stepped closer again. "And the good you could do?"

"I'm not Captain America, Sir," Bucky said, the honorific a bitter afterthought. "I just wore his clothes for a while."

Fury seemed to consider it for a moment before nodding and stepping back. "I respect your decision," he said. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Then he walked away and Bucky was left alone, sitting across from his grave.


End file.
